


Lay Bare the Heart

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti Zelena, Avengers Family, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Family Fluff, Romance, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2015, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Callum Gold is a single father and a simple shopkeeper. He lives a quiet, routine life with his superhero-crazed son Baelfire until the mysterious Belle French moves to Storybrooke and opens a bookstore. Belle’s delightful, charming, and lovely, but will her secrets and the ghosts of Callum’s past threaten their love before it’s even begun?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rumpelstarkskin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpelstarkskin/gifts).



> This is a Rumbelle Christmas in July gift for Rumpelstarkskin. Prompt: Avengers fluff saving Bae.
> 
> Now with art by LBTH's #1 Fan, Beliza-Fryler <3

 

“Papa! Papa!” Baelfire Gold banged into the shop, bursting with restless energy. The 7-year-old rushed into the work area with an exuberant grin on his face. Callum paused his work at the spinning wheel and welcomed his son with an answering smile. The best part of his workday was when Bae came charging into the store after school.

Jefferson Millner, Callum’s friend and Bae’s honorary godfather, generously dropped Bae off at the shop every weekday afternoon when he picked up his daughter, Grace, from school. Not only were Bae and Grace in the same first grade class at Storybrooke Academy, the youngsters were also best friends.

“Hello, Bae,” Callum said, kissing the boy on the forehead and ruffling his thick, brown locks. “How was the spelling test?”

“I got everything right,” he said proudly. “But Papa, that’s not why I’m in such a good mood,” he confided. Bae continued in a rush. “Guess what Uncle Jeff and Grace and I saw on the ride here?”

“Well, I can’t wait to find out.” Callum said expectantly, giving the boy his full attention.

“The bookstore around the corner is finally open! And the window is full of comic books! Avengers comic books! I saw Captain America, Iron Man, the Hulk, Hawkeye, Thor! And Papa, they sell tea. You love tea. You’re always saying ‘No one in Storybrooke knows how to make it properly.’ What does properly mean? Do you think the tea there…”

Gold held up a hand to stop the verbal onslaught and barked an indulgent laugh. “You don’t have to convince me to take you to the bookshop, Bae. We’ll go look at the comic books this afternoon, just as soon as I finish this order.”

“Great!” Hopping up and down, Bae grinned at his father.

“For now, why don’t you head over to my desk to start your homework?” Callum suggested, pointing toward his office door. “I’ll come and check on you in a few minutes, ok?”

“All right, Papa!” Bae dutifully scooted into the office, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Callum smiled to himself, resuming his work at the spinning wheel. His store, Gold’s Weaving and Antiques supplied thread, fabric, and antiquities to the residents of Storybrooke. He shipped product throughout the United States and even internationally. Occasionally he crafted specialty items like curtains or clothing, but he mostly preferred to sell his thread and the cloth he created on his loom to Jefferson.  

A fashion designer and the resident tailor, Jefferson owned a clothing boutique down the street. Storybrooke was comprised of small businesses run and owned by the townspeople who called it home. They boasted no big box stores. Some people shopped online, but most chose to support the local shops.

As Gold moved his hands over the smooth wooden curve of the wheel, his thoughts wandered to the town’s new bookstore. Who was running the establishment? He couldn’t remember anyone local saying they had plans to open such a store. Storybrooke was a small, sleepy little hamlet. Everyone knew the goings on of everyone else’s life. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. While grown children occasionally returned to be near their parents after completing their college studies, rarely did anyone new move into town. Sometimes, Callum Gold wondered why he stayed. But then again, why would he go? His life and his store were here. He provided for his boy and they had a good home. Bae was happy and he, well, he was content enough. Everything they needed was right here. Wasn’t it?

He shook his head. Now he sounded like Milah. Bae’s mother had never been happy here. She’d wanted him to pursue a career as a big-shot litigator in Boston. He had earned his law degree and he enjoyed the fine point of a deal. However, he lacked a killer instinct. Prowling around for weaknesses so he could chew people up and spit them out in court—it just wasn’t him. Callum preferred the quiet solitude of craftsmanship. He loved taking rough, shapeless material and turning it into something beautiful and useful.

Milah hadn’t appreciated his chosen profession as a spinner. “An ancient, outdated practice,” she’d scoffed, and not nearly masculine or prestigious enough for her. He supported his family and they were comfortable, but not wealthy. A coward, she’d called him, when he eschewed the chance to be a big city attorney and opened a shop in Storybrooke. But he wasn’t afraid; he was passionate about his craft. Even after all these years her remarks still blistered, searing an imprint on his soul.

Now she was gone and never coming back. A car accident had claimed her life on the very evening she announced her decision to leave her husband and son.

On the evening of Bae’s first birthday they had argued while a huge rainstorm swept along the Maine coast. He could still hear the crashes of thunder; nature’s answering turmoil to their final fight. Milah confessed that she had never loved him and although she cared for their son, being a mother suffocated her.

Helplessness washing over him, Callum had pleaded with her to stay for Baelfire’s sake; at least to wait for morning until the storm had cleared and their tempers had cooled. But her bags were packed and she was adamant. Jefferson took Bae for the night so Callum could accompany Milah to the train station in Portland. Why had he allowed her to drive? With Milah at the wheel, the car hydroplaned in the downpour and skidded into a tree. She died on impact and he shattered his knee. He would walk with a cane for the rest of his life, but Milah would never taste the freedom she’d so desperately craved.

After six years, his neighbors still whispered about the accident, about the widower Callum Gold and poor, young Baelfire who was saddled with a coward for a father. Since that fateful evening, Jefferson had become his one and only friend. Gold wasn’t ignorant of the judging stares and wagging tongues; he knew the townspeople blamed him for Milah’s death. Often he blamed himself, too. If he’d been firmer and insisted on driving, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Or Milah would have been spared.

But so long as Bae continued to be spared Storybrooke’s ridicule, Callum would gladly bear the brunt. Callum played his part as the stray dog beneath their notice. In exchange, the residents were kind to his boy. And that was all he really cared about. Every decision was made with Bae in mind. He couldn’t afford to think otherwise. His short, bitter marriage to Milah had brought him a lot of heartache but Callum couldn’t bring himself to regret it— he had Bae. The child was his whole world and he thanked God every day for the gift of fatherhood.

Sweeping his musings aside, Callum rose from the wheel, grabbed his cane, and limped to the office to review Bae’s math homework. “Excellent work, son,” he praised. “What do you say to a visit to the new bookshop for some of those comic books, then dinner at Granny’s?

“Can we get hamburgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes?” came the eager reply.

“Is there anything else on the menu?” Gold teased, pressing a rough kiss to the top of Bae’s head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comic books and tea at Miss Belle's Leaves.

Miss Belle’s Leaves was a cheerful, bright little store tastefully festooned in twinkle lights and colorful displays of books artfully arranged around the space. The pleasantly tangy mustiness of old books mingled with the floral fragrance of freshly brewed tea.

One wall of the shop was lined with glass display jars filled with a wide variety of loose teas. Callum nodded approvingly, delighted by the prospect of a steaming cup of proper tea; this shop owner knew what she was about. While Bae rifled through the store’s endless supply of comic books, both new and vintage, he ordered the Earl Grey Crème from a perky redheaded employee named Ariel and sat down at one of the little tables clustered in the corner of the shop.

Stretching out his bad leg with a small groan, he inhaled the tea’s bergamot, orange, and vanilla notes appreciatively. He sipped at the brew, grinning at the sight and sound of Bae practicing his reading skills on an Iron Man comic book.

“Is that the Earl Grey Crème?” inquired a sweet, accented voice. Startled, he lurched to his feet. Gold’s mouth went dry, his vocal cords failing him.

She was the most exquisite creature Callum had ever seen. Alabaster skin framed bright blue eyes, a pert nose, and a full, rosebud mouth. Chestnut curls streaked with auburn were gathered into a loose, side-swept ponytail at the base of her delicate neck. She was impossibly tiny, even in the towering black stilettos that adorned her feet. Callum was not a tall man but the shoes brought her almost to his eye level. A black, knee length pencil skirt flattered her slender curves and a smoky blue lace top punctuated her stunning eyes.

“We just got that one in this morning,” she chattered happily. “I adore black tea with orange. Are you enjoying it?”

He stared, mesmerized by her kind, cerulean eyes. “Enjoying what?” he stammered.

“The tea?” She smiled at him broadly, seeming not to notice his discomfiture. But as the uncomfortable silence drew out, she blushed and looked down at her manicured nails. “Oh…I’ve interrupted you, haven’t I? I’m so sorry, Mr….?”

“Gold,” he supplied hoarsely. “Callum Gold.”

“Callum,” she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Belle. Belle French. This is my shop,” she indicated with a flourish.

As Gold continued his quiet appraisal of the intriguing young bookstore owner, Belle stared back dumbly, feeling like a complete and utter fool. No doubt he was embarrassed by her odd behavior. What had possessed her to walk up to him and start babbling? She panicked, the voice of self-doubt mocking her. Why had she attempted to start a conversation? Why had she even opened a store? She had lived a life of solitude for too long. And now she was blathering like a halfwit to this distinguished gentleman.

Callum Gold was lean and of medium height, with striking, angular features and shoulder length brown hair streaked with gray. Dressed impeccably in a deep navy pinstriped suit with a tie the color of cabernet, he leaned slightly on the gold-tipped cane in his right hand. His warm eyes were twin pools of melted chocolate. He was lightly tanned and the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth had her guessing his was around 40. A small smirk played across his mouth, yet his countenance was weary and sad. Suddenly, his attention was drawn across the room and his lips widened into a full smile. The action transformed his entire visage, making him even more arresting. Butterflies took wing in Belle’s stomach as he wagged his fingers at a young boy she’d seen reading comics. The child had dark brown curls and Callum’s eyes. His son, she realized.

“That’s my boy,” he confirmed, returning his focus to Belle. “As you can see, he’s terribly fond of your comic book section. We may be here till you turn out the lights and lock the doors,” he joked.

She laughed delightedly, her momentary discomfort eased by his light humor.

“And you weren’t interrupting me,” he continued with a wry smile. “Your tea is extraordinary. Better than any I’ve had in years.”

Belle flushed prettily at the compliment. “Thank you. I’m so glad you like it…Callum.”

Gold’s hands were clammy and he drew a hitched breath, trying to mask his nervousness. This lovely young woman had approached _him_ , laughed at _his_ silly joke. She was probably just being polite. Serving the customers was her job. Still—no one in Storybrooke but Jefferson, Grace, and Bae treated him with kindness. “You’re welcome, Miss French,” he managed.

“It’s Belle. Please, call me Belle.” Did she imagine the spark of interest between them? Belle worried her lower lip, squelching the urge to brush back an errant lock of hair that had fallen across his brow. His face was so earnest and it had been _so long_ since she’d had anyone to talk to; _so long_ since anyone had looked at her like she was important.

No. She took a half step back, and wrapped her arms around herself, creating a safe distance between herself and Callum Gold. No good could come from this sudden attraction. Love was for children and fairytales. She had read about love in her books, dreamed of having someone to belong to, but that was the closest Belle French would ever come.

She was about to excuse herself before she said or did something else she would regret. Just then, Gold’s son rushed over, hugging an armful of comics. “Papa, can we get all of these, please? I know you said I could choose 3, but there’s so many good ones—Iron Man, Captain America, Hawkeye, Nick Fury, the Vision, Thor, Hulk, Quicksilver, and the Black Widow.”

It was the perfect moment for Belle to walk away and leave father and son alone to haggle over the number of books they would buy, but she couldn’t resist nudging the adorable child with her elbow and whispering conspiratorially, “Which one is your favorite?”

“The Black Widow,” he replied instantly, his dark eyes serious.

“Really?” Belle was surprised. “What about Thor, Captain America, or the Incredible Hulk? They are the real heroes, I think.”

“Yes, they’re great. I really love all the Avengers. But the Black Widow is so awesome! She doesn’t have any superpowers but she’s a martial arts expert, and she knows a ton of languages, and she knows about science, and can hack into any computer. Plus, she’s really pretty,” he said, sweetly defending the reason for his choice. “Know what else? I think she would make a good mommy.”

Belle’s pretty face paled suddenly. “I see. Why’s that?”

“She probably tells great stories and since she’s got a black belt in like every style of fighting she could protect her family,” he explained.

Gold cleared his throat, ending the highly personal and deeply uncomfortable exchange. His precocious son had practically screamed his status as a single father. “Belle, meet my son Baelfire. Bae, say hello to Miss Belle. She owns this wonderful shop you’ve been so enthused about.”

Bae offered Belle a winsome smile. “Hi, Miss Belle! I bet you know everything there is to know about the Avengers! Do you want to come to Granny’s for burgers?” he blurted.

Belle glanced at Callum to gauge his response. A man this attractive probably had a gorgeous wife waiting for him at home.

“Um, Bae, Miss Belle may have other plans.” He watched her face carefully as he offered her an out and an emotion he couldn’t quite identify flashed in her lovely eyes. Was it longing? Quickly, she schooled her features into a cool, polite expression and opened her mouth to decline the invitation.

Gathering his limited courage, he cut her off before she could speak. “Belle, if you’re not otherwise engaged this evening, we bachelors would love for you to join us for dinner.”

“You’re sure I’m not imposing?” she hedged. That was _not_ relief she felt at the news that he was single. She would have a quick bite to eat and be on her way. She was not looking to prolong their association. Not at all.

“We’d be delighted to have your company.” She gave him a beatific smile and his heart swelled. Callum felt like he’d hung the moon rather than extended the courtesy of a simple meal. He offered her his arm. “Will you walk with us to Granny’s?”

“All right, then,” she agreed, promptly forgetting her promise to herself to steer clear of Callum Gold and his cherubic son. She winked one sparkling sapphire eye at Bae. “I’ve never been able to resist a hamburger.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you care to join us for dinner?

It was a brisk Friday evening in early October and the restaurant was bustling with patrons. They were there in droves, ordering giant platters of Granny Lucas’s weekly lasagna special followed by requests for thick slabs of her famous lemon meringue pie or mounds of vanilla ice cream sandwiched between warm, homemade chocolate chunk cookies. The rich scents of garlic-spiked tomato sauce, frying meat, and buttery crust perfumed the air, making the humble eatery feel cozy and inviting.

Privately, Gold thought Granny’s lasagna was somewhat overpraised, but he never said so. Who knew how long he’d suffer for such a snub? But that was no matter. The Golds were self-proclaimed burger men and rarely deviated from their standard order of cheeseburgers with extra pickles and sweet potato fries.

Ushering Belle and Bae into a booth, Callum tried not to notice the sidelong glances and hushed whispers of other customers. He prayed silently that Belle wouldn’t sense that one of her dining companions was less than well-liked. Accustomed to his father’s censure, Bae chattered happily about Iron Man trading barbs with Captain America in one of the 20 comic books he had convinced Callum to buy.

As Bae talked and the trio ate, Callum stole glance after glance at Belle’s lovely face. His heart lurched at the way she smiled and inclined her head toward Bae, encouraging his ideas with questions and comments. With the exception of his first year of life, his son had been denied a mother figure. Sitting across from Belle, his tiny face shining from her compliments, there was no doubt Bae was completely besotted.

He wasn’t in much better shape himself. Good heavens was she beautiful! The sight of her lush, pink lips closing around her hamburger made his stomach twist into knots. She met his eyes as she chewed. Callum looked away quickly to cover his embarrassment at being caught staring. Again.

As the meal progressed, he was able to relax and between bites of juicy hamburgers stuffed with bacon and sharp cheddar, and Belle and Callum discovered several shared interests. Literature, classical music, Impressionist art, and antiques were passions for both of them. Toying with their napkins, they lingered over dessert and hot tea (it was nowhere as good as Belle’s brew), reluctant for the evening to end.

Callum felt like he’d known Belle French for months instead of mere hours.

Briefly, she excused herself and rose from the leather booth to go to the restroom. Gold stared at her retreating back, admiring the view.

“I really like her, Papa,” Bae piped up when she was out of earshot. “She likes you a lot. I can tell.”

“Belle’s a nice young lady,” Gold allowed, trying not to lift his own hopes or his son’s too high. He sighed, raking a hand through his long hair. Belle was too good, too pure for the likes of him. And she was new to Storybrooke. Associating with him would taint her good name in this town before she even had a chance to develop one.

“You should ask her to go out with you,” Bae urged. “That’s what Tony Stark does in my comic book when he decides he likes Pepper Potts. He just goes for it.”

Gold snorted in amusement at his first grader’s dating logic. “Does he, now?”

Paying the bill, he included a generous tip for their waitress, Ruby Lucas. Tall and slender with long dark hair streaked with bright red and clad in a short leather skirt and skimpy top, the Widow Lucas’s granddaughter had a reputation for walking on the wild side. But Gold wasn’t fooled by the girl’s careless attitude. Her dark eyes were sharp and intelligent, missing nothing. As Belle returned to the table, Ruby eye her curiously. Probably wondering what a pretty young stranger was doing here with the resident outcast, Callum thought. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he supposed Ruby would likely pull Belle aside at the first opportunity and warn her to stay away.

Pulling on coats and gathering belongings, they were just about to escape the prying eyes of the townspeople when someone else approached the table. “How charming,” a smooth male voice purred. “Gold; Bae, how are you tonight?” Jefferson Millner clapped Callum on the shoulder and tousled Bae’s hair. Callum cast a pleading glance in Jefferson’s direction, an appeal not to embarrass him. But the tall man grinned, displaying his handsome dimples. “And just who is this delightful creature?” he asked, grasping Belle’s hand and bringing it to his mouth for a soft kiss.

“Hi, Uncle Jeff!” Bae greeted his godfather warmly.

“Belle French, meet Jefferson Millner, fashion designer, tailor, and town busybody,” Gold intoned, confident that he could tease his one and only friend. “He’s also Bae’s godfather and my closest friend. Jeff, Belle just opened a new book and tea shop.”

“Yes, we pass it every day on our ride home from school. So it’s open at last. Enchanté, my lady.” Jefferson swept an elegant bow.

“Hello,” she replied politely, sparing him a cursory glance. “How nice to meet a friend of Callum and Bae.”

“Indeed,” Jefferson said, quirking a brow. She had barely looked at him! Belle’s soft azure gaze returned to Callum’s face and Jefferson was at once grateful and suspicious. It was about time a special someone discovered all that Callum Gold had to offer, but he needed to make sure her interest was legitimate. Well, he would just have a bit of fun then.

“Where are you from, Miss French?” Jefferson inquired

“Originally, Australia. I’ve been to many places,” she replied vaguely.

“What brought you to Storybrooke?” Jefferson asked next.

She shrugged. “It was time for a change and I’ve always wanted to open a bookstore.”

“Tell me, Miss French, ‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’” Jefferson quoted.

Gold rolled his eyes and yanked on his tie, suddenly suffocating. Why was it so hot in here? And what the hell was Jefferson playing at?

“What, Uncle Jeff? That didn’t make any sense,” Bae said.

“It’s a line from a play, Bae,” Belle explained kindly. “From ‘As You Like It.’”

“Oh,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “They talk funny in plays.”

“Mr. Millner,” Belle said, curtly, “You know your Shakespeare,” Her cheeks darkened to a delicious shade of pink and her eyes flashed with a warning. “But I assure you, I am no snobbish Phoebe, obsessed with her own beauty and importance, thinking herself better than others.” She reached across the table to lay her tiny hand over Callum’s and looked at him fondly. Her sharp tone was not intended for him.

Gold was dumbstruck. Had she just said she liked him? She liked him! _Belle French_ liked _him_. He blushed, preening at her praise. He was as bad as Bae. No, he was worse.

“Touché, Miss French,” Jefferson murmured, impressed by the bookshop owner’s spunky response to his impromptu test. He would not see his dearest friend jilted by another selfish woman; not if he could help it. But Belle French seemed different, her quick defense attesting to her genuine interest in his friend.

“You may call me Belle,” she said primly, touched by the man’s loyalty to Callum. She had a good sense about people and it was already clear that not many people saw Callum Gold for the man he truly was. Jefferson Millner was only being protective.

Hefting his bag of takeout, Jefferson took his leave. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, friends. Belle, it was a pleasure to meet you and I look forward to another exchange of wits. Let’s make it soon, hmmm?” He winked at Gold. “See you tomorrow after school, Bae.”  
  


* * *

  
After walking Belle back to her apartment above the bookshop, Callum and Bae returned to their salmon pink Victorian manse across town. As he tucked an exhausted Bae into bed surrounded by stacks of comic books, Callum’s mind wandered back to Belle. She was too good for him he mused as he turned out Bae’s bedroom light, but he didn’t know if he could stay away from her.

“Papa?” Bae yawned, stretching in his Incredible Hulk pajamas.

“Yes, Bae.” Callum returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Belle is kind of like Betty Ross, isn’t she?”

“Betty Ross?”

“She’s Bruce Banner’s girlfriend. Even though he sometimes looks like a monster on the outside, she loves him for the person he is in his heart. Lots of people don’t like him, but he’s really a hero.”

“I see,” Callum said. But he wasn’t sure he did. “I’m not exactly a superhero,” he confessed, disliking the weakness in his voice.

“I think you are,” Bae encouraged. “You’re the best dad in the whole world.”

“Thank you, son.” Swiping at the tears burning his eyes he gave the boy a watery smile. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Misplaced though it was, Bae’s confidence gave Callum the push he needed. Yes, they had just met. But Belle seemed to enjoy his company and he certainly appreciated hers. They had much in common. Bae couldn’t stop talking about her. Brandishing sharp intelligence and grace, she had dispatched Jefferson with ease. Never mind the Storybrooke gossips or his sordid past marriage, he decided. For once he was going to break his own rules and go after what he wanted. And he wanted Belle French.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwelcome visitor comes to Gold's shop. Belle intervenes...with a little help from Baelfire.

Saturdays were his least favorite day at the shop.

Callum loved his work, but when Bae wasn’t in school he wanted to spend every free moment enjoying his boy. Today it couldn’t be helped. Customers ran errands on weekends and he felt obligated to be open from 12 noon to 5 p.m. Unfortunately, he was handling more than just his son today; one Saturday a month he watched Grace while Jefferson entertained 12 consecutive hours of back-to-back fitting appointments at his boutique.

For now, the youngsters were content playing a game of checkers on the workroom floor while he manned the front of the shop. Wrapping up a filigree necklace for David Nolan, a birthday present for his girlfriend Mary Margaret, Gold glanced at the clock, allowing his thoughts to wander. Just another 45 minutes and he could close for the weekend and take the kids to the park.

Would Belle like to come along on their outing?

Since their first dinner at Granny’s nearly one month ago, Callum had visited the sweet brunette’s book room on several afternoons, always with Bae in tow and on a quest for more comic books. Each time, Belle introduced him to a new tea: he had tried gingerbread black tea, pumpkin spice brulee oolong tea, ginger coconut rooibos tea, jade citrus mint green tea, lavender peach white tea and a host other flavors. His favorite teas were strong and black, but he was helpless to resist Belle’s enthusiasm whenever she discovered a new blend. “I have something special for you to try,” she would say with a hint of mystery, ushering him to one of her tiny tables and asking him about his day while he sipped. Always she had some kind of pastry or sweet to complement the tea she served, along with cookies for Bae.

Those quiet moments over steaming cups of tea and light conversation about books, spinning, and Maine winters were the fragile beginnings of their courtship. Callum moved forward cautiously; he had never been very good with women and his social life was limited to parent-teacher conferences and evenings with Jefferson, Bae, and Grace. He still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask Belle on a proper date—just the two of them. For one, Bae’s presence made them both more comfortable; two, he and Baelfire were a package deal and anyone he had a relationship with had to have a wonderful rapport with his son; and three, Belle was still an enigma. At moments she was warm, tactile, and flirtatious; at others she was cautious, taciturn, and on edge. Part of him feared she would simply disappear one day.

Placing the finishing touch on David Nolan’s gift—a gold cloth ribbon woven on his own loom—Gold presented the package. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. Is there anything else I can do for you today?” As usual, he was carefully courteous.

“I’m all set. You think Mary Margaret’s going to like this?” David asked anxiously, tapping the wrapped box in his hands.

“It’s an exquisite piece for a lovely young woman. You chose well,” Gold assured him and sent the charming Mr. Nolan on his way.

Locking the display case, Callum realized the background noises of childlike conversation and laughter were conspicuously absent. Pivoting back toward the workroom, he scanned the back of the shop. He frowned; Grace and Bae were nowhere in sight. Then the side door swung open and he heard giggling as his son and his friend crept back into the shop in the seven-year-old’s version of stealth. Which is to say, they weren’t the least bit quiet. Two sets of eyes widened as they took in Callum’s stern expression.

“Caught you!” Gold announced with a hint of triumph. “And just where have you been?”

“Papa!” Blushing furiously, Bae pulled a guilty face and quickly moved his hands behind his back. “How—how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Callum narrowed his gaze, sensing trouble. “What are you hiding, Baelfire Gold?”

The bell over the front door jingled, signaling the arrival of another customer and Gold sighed. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” he hissed. “Behave!”

“Yes, Papa. Yes, Uncle Callum,” two angelic voices chorused.

Tossing them a harangued look, he turned on his heel, and immediately collided with Zelena Greenlea.

Zelena careened into his arms, causing his cane to clatter to the wooden floor—really, he hadn’t bumped her _that_ hard—and Gold stifled a groan. This was not going to be pleasant.

“Miss Greenlea, my apologies,” he began, pushing her lightly away from his body and bending to retrieve his cane. “I wasn’t expecting you to be there. This is my workroom and all the merchandise is in the front of the shop.” He gestured, trying to propel her back towards the front of the store, but she was still clinging to his shoulders.

“Callum,” she chided, ignoring his hint that customers weren’t welcome in his private workspace. “We’ve known each other many years. When will I finally convince you to call me Zelena?” She pouted, making a moue with her ridiculous red mouth. “Darling, I’m still a wee bit dizzy. You don’t mind if I hold on to you a little longer, do you?”

He gritted his teeth through a tight-lipped smile. “Why don’t we go out to the showroom and find you a place to rest while I help you with…whatever it is you’re here for?”

Closing his eyes briefly, he summoned his last threads of patience. Just play the game. Though Zelena Greenlea had harassed him for years, she was respected in Storybrooke whereas he was regarded with scrutiny. Circumventing her was always tricky, but not impossible.

Zelena had been Milah’s best friend. Even during their marriage, Zelena had made no secret of her interest in Callum. Unwilling to take No for an answer, she persisted in throwing herself at him—with Milah’s blessing.

“A willing woman should be taken advantage of, Callum,” Milah had laughed darkly. “Zelena likes you. She finds you attractive. There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose,” she had snorted.

He colored with shame at the ugly memory of his own wife foisting him off on another woman.

Tossing her long strawberry blonde locks, Zelena gave him a sultry look. “It’s nearly five o’clock. Let’s go out for drinks,” she suggested.

“Can’t, thanks. I’m babysitting,” he said brightly, happy to have a ready reason to turn her down.

“Little urchins,” she huffed. “Isn’t there someone else who can watch them?”

“Afraid not.” He arched a dark brow at her, swallowing his ire.

“Hello, Callum. Miss Greenlea. Am I interrupting something?” Belle. Her voice was crisp and Callum caught his breath. She was breathtaking in a royal blue dress with a flared skirt, a belt cinching her petite waist, and soft brown leather boots. Her auburn curls hung in loose waves down her back.

“Actually…” Zelena snapped, but Callum was quicker.

“Not at all, Belle,” he hurried to her side, taking her small, chilly hands in his and giving them a tight, welcoming squeeze. “Miss Greenlea was just telling me how much she enjoys children.”

“Miss French,” Zelena nodded coldly, choosing to ignore the insult. “How are things at the bore—I mean—the book shop?”

“How terribly droll you are, Miss Greenlea.” Belle smiled glacially. “As it happens your copy of _Witchy Pleasures_ just arrived with the Saturday morning shipment. Had I known you would be here I’d have brought it with me. Pity.”

The women exchanged hard stares, circling each other, and Gold was secretly pleased by Belle’s frosty attitude toward Zelena. Was it general dislike of the other woman? Or was she possibly… _jealous_?

Hearing Belle’s voice, Bae and Grace came rushing out to greet her. “Belle!” Bae grinned widely. “I didn’t think I would see you today! You’ve never been in here before.” He threw his little arms around her neck and enveloped her in a tight hug.

Laughing, she returned his embrace and smiled at Grace. “I’m here to order some cloth from your dad. My shop needs some festive curtains for the holiday season. Besides, I’m overdue for my first visit to this fine establishment. I hear the owner is a master spinner as well as a procurer of fascinating and difficult-to-find objects.” She looked at Gold fondly.

“I believe I was here first,” Zelena interrupted again, discomfited by the familiarity between Callum and the saucy bookworm. Everyone in Storybrooke knew that Callum Gold belonged to her.

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. “What?” she complained. “It’s true.”

“It’s not that,” Bae said solemnly, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s just that…well, you have something in your hair.”

Zelena’s hands flew to her scalp, frantically feeling around until a large, hairy spider crawled down her forehead. She screamed, a high-pitched wail. “Get it off! Get it off!” she begged, until Gold showed some mercy and plucked the creature from her face.

When he returned from releasing the spider outside, Grace and Bae were rolling on the floor in a fit of giggles. Belle smothered a laugh behind her hand.

Enraged, Zelena stomped out the door, throwing a threat over her shoulder: “You’d best be careful, Gold. My influence in this town is considerable.” The door slammed hard enough to send the bell crashing to the floor.

“Is that what you two were doing out in the alley earlier? Hunting for insects?” Gold’s mouth twitched in amusement.

“Yes, Papa,” Bae confessed. “Are we in trouble?”

“It’s too fine a day for punishments,” he declared. “What would you say to a trip to the playground and ice cream instead?”

“Yea!” The children squealed.

Gold laughed. “Go get your coats. I want you bundled up tight.” He turned to Belle. “After we discuss your fabric, would you like to come for a stroll in Storybrooke Park?”

“Yes, I would love to,” she beamed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a walk in the park?

She hadn’t intended to agree to another almost-date. She hadn’t intended to seek out Gold at his shop at all. Ambling around Storybrooke’s tiny downtown area, her feet had somehow just steered her over there. Before she knew it, she was standing in the front window, intrigued by a delicate white and blue tea set that would fit in perfectly at her shop. Seeing that harpy Zelena Greenlea pawing at Callum— _her Callum_ —had spoiled her mood and made Belle dizzy with fury. Jealousy washed over her, coloring her cheeks. She stuffed the sensations back—Callum was _not_ hers. He could speak to and keep company with whomever he pleased. Still; that woman was a disease; aloof, abrasive, and not at all self-aware.

From the moment Zelena had breezed into her shop, nose in the air like she owned the entire block, Belle had taken an instant dislike to her. By interrupting that tense moment she was merely rescuing Callum from an uncomfortable situation, right? It would have been rude not to accept his invitation to the park on a lovely autumn evening, she reasoned. He had probably asked out of gratitude for helping him to deflect that odious woman. But the truth was as obvious as young Baelfire’s obsession with superheroes: she was falling in love with this gentle man with tender eyes and a soft touch. He and his adorable little boy. And she suspected that he felt the same way.

Leaves crunched under their shoes, a creating a colorful carpet of orange, yellow, brown, and red. A light wind blew, swirling the leaves in tiny tornadoes that danced around them as they strolled along a scenic path in Storybrooke Park. Their comfortable banter was interspersed with short periods of companionable silence.

He was just so easy to be around, Belle mused. Since they had begun their friendship several people had approached her with warnings to stay away from Callum, though no one would really explain why associating with him was distasteful. She’d thanked them politely for their concern and ended the conversation. Small town life was so silly—people telling her what to feel, how to act, who to see? She released a derisive sniff. No one decided her fate but her.

Admiring his handsome profile as she walked by his side, Belle appreciated his strong nose and the determined set of his jaw. He certainly was pleasant to look at and he smelled incredible. Whenever the wind blew, the scent of his spicy cologne wafted toward her, mixing with the crisp fall air and intoxicating her senses.

Frolicking happily and chasing each other around Callum and Belle, Grace and Bae paused often to exclaim over and jump into giant leaf piles, making a delightful crackle. Rounding the bend, they pointed at the playground with a glad cry. Gold nodded his permission and they raced to the teeter totter.

“So,” Belle bantered as they sat together on a park bench to watch the kids play, “I’ve had a couple of months to ask around. I’ve heard about you, Callum Gold. People in town—they don’t think much of you.” Her bright eyes danced with merriment.

“Ah, my reputation.” Dark eyes met hers seriously, regretfully. “What have you heard?”

“That I should stay away from you.” She answered instantly, yet not unkindly.

“You should listen, Belle.” His brogue was thick and sad.

“Why?” she persisted.

“My past…it’s not something I’m proud of. People say…they say I was responsible for my wife’s death.” The words ripped from his chest as if uttering them physically pained him. Belle felt that wound keenly—she had her own uncomfortable history and she wasn’t ready to share it. She might never be ready.

“Well,” she said flatly, letting him off the hook. “Good thing I care nothing for rumors. I form my own opinions.”

Relief flooded his face and he smiled at her. In answer, she looped her arm through his and tucked her gloved hand into his palm.

“Belle, since you’re, as you said, ‘forming your own opinion,’ I was wondering…I mean, I was hoping…would you like to join us for Sunday dinner tomorrow? Nothing fancy—it’s Spaghetti Night,” he rushed on, babbling nervously. “Afterward, Bae and I make popcorn and watch a movie. _The Avengers_ is on the docket.”

She should decline, she knew, but she didn’t _want_ to. “Spaghetti happens to be one of my favorites and I love a good movie….” Belle broke off as her cell phone started to ring.

Glancing at the screen she looked at Callum sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I have to take this,” she explained, stepping away for privacy.

Turned away from him, Belle spoke in hushed tones, her speech clipped. Callum had the odd feeling she didn’t want him to overhear the conversation. He tried not to listen, but as the name Nick floated back in his direction, his stomach dropped. Was she seeing someone else?

Abruptly, she ended the call. “Callum, I have to go. There’s an urgent business matter at the shop. Sorry to run off like this.” Briefly, she brushed her fingers along his stubbled cheek. “I’ll see you and Bae tomorrow! Six o’clock? I’ll bring dessert. Bye!”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she hurried off.

Strange, Callum thought. Strange and a little secretive. But she hadn’t demanded answers about his past; he had no right to push her about the odd phone call.

“Where’s Belle?” Breathless, Bae ran over to the bench he was perched on, closely followed by Grace.

“Belle had to leave. But we’ll see her tomorrow for supper,” he amended quickly when the boy’s face fell. “Who’s ready for some ice cream?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and a movie. But what does Belle have to hide?

He looked adorable in his shirtsleeves with an apron tied around his waist, Belle decided as Callum prepared dinner. Especially one tattooed with the phrase “Everything’s Better with Bacon, Dearie.”

“There’s no bacon in the spaghetti and meatballs but this was a Christmas gift from Bae,” he explained, smiling sheepishly at her melodic laugh and running his hands self-consciously over the black fabric. “I’m sure that git Jefferson had something to do with it.” He groused as if put out, but Belle could tell he enjoyed his friend’s antics.

“You look very comfortable in the kitchen,” she complimented, watching him navigate from cutting board to gas stovetop to oven with practiced ease. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help you? You’re doing all the work and I’m lounging around drinking Cabernet.” She took another sip of the ruby red wine, the spicy rich flavor coating her tongue.

“Tonight, just let me take care of you, Belle,” Callum requested, chopping cucumbers, artichoke hearts, and tomatoes for the salad. “How many afternoons have I come to the bookstore and you’ve fussed over me with exotic teas and cakes? Besides, you brought dessert.”

“I can’t tell you how strenuous it was to call Giancarlos and place an order for tiramisu,” she teased, coming up behind him at the counter. She ghosted a hand along his side as she retrieved the salad bowl. “Let me just carry this to the table for you.” Her lilting voice was a near whisper and she felt Callum shiver as she pressed her front against his back for a brief, electrifying moment.

Belle’s pulse raced and her breathing quickened as goosebumps rose all over her flesh—a testimony to the power of Callum’s nearness.

Closing his eyes, Callum inhaled her heavenly scent—a mixture of lilacs and roses blended with the musky vanilla aroma of antique books. She lingered a moment longer, smoothing her hands over his shoulders.

“What are you guys doing in here?”

Springing back quickly, Belle nearly lost her footing in her three-inch, open-toed pumps, and she was grateful for the stability of the kitchen island at her back.

Callum braced his hands on the counter to steady himself and tried to look busy, giving the lemon vinaigrette an unnecessarily vicious stir.

“Hey, Bae! We were wondering where you’d gone.” Belle tittered anxiously, debating about how much he had seen.

“Upstairs to read more about Thor’s hammer,” he said, holding up the book in his hand. “What are you doing?” he pressed.

“We were cooking,” Gold snapped shrilly, his head still swimming from Belle’s closeness. Softening his tone he added, “Make yourself useful and set the table, son.”

Dinner was a cheerful affair, the spaghetti and homemade meatballs the centerpiece of the meal, accompanied by garlic bread and green salad. Bae entertained them endlessly with anecdotes about school, Lego club, and of course, his beloved comics. Merrily they ate and laughed until their sides ached.

“Everything tastes delicious,” Belle praised, pouring strong black tea spiked with cinnamon and cloves for the two adults and a glass of milk for Bae. “Callum, you are an excellent cook. I think you’ve been holding out on me. What else can you do?”

“Anything,” he joked, lifting a forkful of tiramisu to his lips. Flavors of cocoa, cream, and espresso burst in his mouth, the full body of the tea cutting through the lushness of the dessert. “Truthfully, Belle, I’m a man of limited capabilities. I’m a simple shop owner and a father.”

“And a spinner, a weaver, an antiques dealer, and a gourmet,” Belle added. “Not to mention a wonderful friend.” Those aqua eyes shone with promise and they regarded one another for a long moment. As he had earlier in the kitchen, Bae broke the spell with a question: “Papa, are you feeling ok?”

Caught again, Callum cleared his throat gruffly and Belle flushed, tracing the abstract strokes of color on her teacup with a trembling finger. Callum was tremendously pleased to note that he was not the only one unaffected. With more certainty than he’d ever felt in his life, he knew Belle was as attracted to him as he was to her.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, swallowing a mouthful of tiramisu. “Giancarlos has outdone himself. This is absolutely delectable."

Callum thought _she_ was absolutely delectable, but he would sooner die than utter those words aloud. His beauty was once again attired in blue—did she know it was his favorite? She wore a sleeveless lace overlay and pintuck sheath dress with a jewel illusion neckline, the fit so elegant that Jefferson himself would have been impressed. Belle’s auburn locks were swept back and away from her face in a casual up-do, with wispy tendrils escaping to curl temptingly around her delicate neck.

During the movie, while the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. assembled a team of superheroes to strategize against their latest foe, Callum was content to sit and watch Belle, who had curled up next to him on the sofa. On the floor of the darkened room Bae sprawled out, munching on buttery popcorn and cheering for the Avengers.

“Unbelievable!” Bae exclaimed, watching the Black Widow take out three security guards with a series of airborne roundhouse kicks. “Did you see the way she destroyed those guys? Belle, you know what’s weird? You look so much like her.”

“Just a coincidence Bae,” she pointed out. “Actually the Black Widow’s hair is red and her eyes are green—we don’t like that much alike. And” she added, a bit imperiously. “I am a dancer, not a fighter.”

“Hmmm,” Bae said, unconvinced.

The little one fell asleep before the credits rolled. Unable to cart Bae up the steps without further injuring his knee, Gold moved to shake him awake so he could guide the sleepy boy to his bed. “Callum, let me,” Belle begged sweetly, offering to carry him. “Let’s not disturb him.”

Relenting, he stomped out the twinge of envy he felt as Belle’s lithe body hefted the boy’s weight with surprising ease for one so small and ascended the staircase to the second floor. With a sense of melancholy, he realized he would never again lift his son in his arms; never carry his wife over the threshold of his home. Wait, wife? Where had _that_ notion come from? Startled by the train of his thoughts, he shook his head and followed Belle up the steps to Bae’s room.

Together, they tucked the blankets around Bae’s drowsing form and Belle was awestruck as she savored the sound of his even, deep breaths and the heavy sweetness of his boneless limbs. There was something inexplicably right about standing beside Callum as they each took a turn brushing the boy’s forehead with a tender kiss.

Tension bloomed between them anew as they returned to ground floor, and Callum distracted himself from Belle’s enticing loveliness by clearing the table and unceremoniously dumping plates, utensils, and pots into the sink and filling it with hot, soapy water.

“At least let me help with the dishes,” Belle cajoled stubbornly, stacking plates on the counter. He nodded his ascent and both of them plunged their hands into the warm, running water, bumping their fingers under the spray.

Gold froze for a split second; then, giving her plenty of time to back away, he slowly removed his hands from the water and grazed the soft skin of Belle’s neck with his warm, wet palms. Mesmerized, he watched drops of water roll down the ivory column of her throat to wet the neckline of her dress. As he pulled her closer, Belle’s pupils dilated, their inky blackness swallowing up the blue of her irises.

She sunk her teeth into her full, lower lip—the subtle invitation his undoing. Gold crushed her against his chest with a sigh and kissed her pretty pink mouth. Her lips opened beneath his like the petals of a flower and her hands carded through his hair, digging into his scalp. With the water in the sink still running, they forgot time and place as they lost themselves in sensation, clinging to each other.

Belle broke away first, breathing harshly. With satisfaction Gold noticed the pulse point in her neck was pounding furiously. “Darling Belle,” he soothed in a jagged murmur, “you are so incredibly beautiful.”

“Callum, I…” Belle could no more control her breath than she could still the rapid whirling of her thoughts. He had treated her to a delightful dinner, welcomed her into the cozy sanctuary of his home, then wooed her with a passionate, soul-searing kiss.

Belle’s chest constricted, the force of her emotions frightening her. “Thank you. For everything. It was so, so wonderful. But it’s late and I have to go. I just….I can’t.” Fumbling with her coat, she tried to contain the small sob threatening to burst from her throat.

“Belle! Belle, wait! Belle, I’m sorry. I am,” he pleaded. He limped hurriedly down the hall but she had already slipped out the door. He stood on the porch, his breath a halo of steam around his head as the woman who held his heart scurried down the street—out of his arms and out of his life.

Miserably, he looked into the mocking face of the Man in the Moon. Gold’s eyes filled with tears of frustration and sorrow; had he scared her with the strength of his desire? Ten minutes ago he was so sure she had felt it, too.

Each and every time he tried to be brave, his act of courage came back to bite him with the ferocious snap of a lion’s jaws. Perhaps Milah had been right, after all he thought bitterly. He was a coward and a failure and no one save Bae would ever love him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep.

“Another bouquet of hydrangeas, Belle,” piped her assistant, Ariel. The helpful redhead positioned the gorgeous arrangement on the corner of Belle’s desk.

Belle sighed, fingering the delicate blue edges of the violet flowers. “Who sent them?” she asked casually.

Hands on her hips, Ariel rolled her eyes, not buying Belle’s feigned innocence for a moment. “They’re from _him_ , of course,” she said, ripping open the card and reading aloud.

 

_My dearest Belle,_

_I am deeply saddened that you have decided to end our friendship._

_Foolishly, I hoped that these small tokens of affection would convince you to at least hear me out. If I were a man of courage, I would show up on your doorstep and serenade you, declaring my feelings. But I am a coward; I have been my entire life. For your sake, I wish I could apologize for kissing you that night after dinner at my house, but I cannot bring myself to regret one of the happiest moments of my life. Rest assured, I have relinquished any hopes of winning you. However, I didn’t want to lose you completely without you knowing everything. In truth, you have restored my heart. Knowing you, spending time in your company has given me “A heart to love, and in that heart, Courage, to make’s love known.”_

_Sweet Belle, you have my love always and forever._

_Your humble servant,_

_Callum Gold_

 

“That was actually quite perfect,” Belle acknowledged, wiping tears from her eyes.

Disgusted, Ariel tossed the tender missive across Belle’s desk and glared at her boss. “C’mon, Belle, he’s been sending flowers, chocolates, and cards almost every day. How many times has he called you in the past five weeks? Maybe Callum Gold isn’t bachelor of the year, but at this point I feel sorry for the poor guy. Please,” she begged, “stop torturing him already.”

“Torturing him? I haven’t done anything wrong,” Belle denied, irritated by the guilty feelings coursing through her veins. Deeply affected by his words, she whipped a tissue out of box and blew her nose loudly, uncaring that she looked and sounded ridiculous and not the least bit ladylike. Why should she have to explain herself?

“Really?” Ariel drawled sardonically. “So you’ve broken off the relationship?” The rhetorical question hung in the air, making Belle’s shoulders tense.

“I thought he would have given up and moved on by now,” she admitted, crumpling the used tissue and tossing it across the room into the waste bin. “Trust me, Ariel, this is what’s best. It’s easier for everyone.”

Ariel regarded her boss skeptically, pinning Belle to her chair with a level look. “Clearly, he hasn’t given up. Belle, fire me if you want, but I have to say my piece. I know you’re a private person. You keep your own counsel and more than your share of secrets. In the four months I’ve known you, I’ve never pushed you to open up. But employer or not, there is one thing I do insist on: you need to be honest with yourself. Is this really easier for everyone? Or easier for _you_?”

That evening, ensconced in her snug flat above the bookshop, Belle lay awake until the wee hours, mulling over Ariel’s sage words of advice and Callum’s heartfelt declaration. _He loves me? He loves me. He loves me!_ Scarcely able to believe the sentiments were true, Belle read and reread the handwritten note over and over.

How badly she wanted to pick up the phone, confess her own feelings of love, and beg him to forgive her for making a mess of everything. For 38 days (not that she was counting) she had ignored him, carefully rebuilding the tall, thick walls around her heart. But his honest, caring words had caused those walls to come crumbling down. Now her heart lay bare and vulnerable, and she felt dreadfully exposed.  
  


* * *

 

“What’ll it be today, Bae?” Callum asked, removing the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. “Cereal? Waffles? Yogurt?”

“Nothing. I’m not hungry,” Bae responded glumly, not meeting his father’s eyes. Elbows on the table, he cupped his little chin in his hands. His boy looked impossibly young and terribly sad. In that moment, Callum would have given just about anything to make his son smile again.

Instead, he tried to adhere to their morning routine. “A growing boy has to eat something,” Callum persisted. “You need your energy for school.”

“I’m not hungry,” Bae repeated stubbornly.

Gold sighed in defeat. He wasn’t hungry, either. Not that morning nor any morning in the past five weeks. Heartsick, he missed Belle dreadfully. Since she wouldn’t talk to him he had no idea what he’d done wrong, but he felt absolutely wretched.

“Stop pretending you care!” Bae shouted suddenly, invading Gold’s thoughts.

“Son, of course I care. What is this all about?” Gold countered, fearing the answer.

“Belle! You’ve just given up on her!” he wailed, tears of betrayal streaming down his cheeks.

“That’s not how it happened,” Callum corrected. “Bae, I’ve tried. She won’t speak to me.”

“You haven’t tried hard enough,” Bae hiccupped on a sob. “Thor didn’t give up on Jane Foster! Superman didn’t give up on Lois Lane! The Green Lantern didn’t give up on Carol Ferris!”

“Well, I’m not a bloody superhero, am I?” Gold snapped in a desperate attempt to end the tirade.

“Why can’t you believe?” Bae insisted. “Believe in yourself and believe in Belle. She loves you. I know it.”

“You’re seven years old,” Gold exploded. “You have no idea what the real world is like and I pray you never find out! People are cold and cruel. This idealistic fantasy realm that you live in—this place where superheroes exist and happy endings happen every day—it doesn’t exist, Bae!”

“I hate you!” Bae screamed, grabbing his backpack and flinging the door open. “You _are_ a coward,” he spat.

Paralyzed by the pain of those terrible, truthful words, Gold could only stare open-mouthed as his beloved son sprinted across the grass to meet the bus. Would a day ever come when the people he loved would stop leaving him?  
  


* * *

 

Across town, Belle began her day with scalding hot, strong coffee to ward off the sluggishness of her nearly sleepless night. She hoped the burst of caffeine would carry her through several hours of stocking shelves and waiting on customers.

Dusting her prized blue and white antique tea set—another gift from Callum—plunged Belle into the mire of her guilt once again. Truly, she had no business keeping such an expensive treasure, but she could never bear to part with it. Now that she no longer allowed herself the pleasure of spending time with Callum and Bae, the tea service that had captured her fancy on her first visit to his store was her only remaining link to them.

Losing herself in work for the next several hours, she absently nibbled on a sandwich and quaffed her lunchtime cup of tea. The brew tasted off somehow. Exhausted and slightly dizzy, Belle scribbled a note to call her supplier—right after she took a quick nap. Vowing to close her eyes for just a few moments, she was startled awake by none other than Baelfire Gold, his face peaked and concerned.

“Bae,” she mumbled drowsily, rubbing her eyes, “shouldn’t you be in school?”

“It’s almost six o’ clock at night,” he said, surprised. Ariel let me in before she left. I was shaking you and saying your name, like, forever. You scared me. How long have you been asleep?”

“Longer than I expected, I guess,” she admitted, embarrassed to be caught sleeping in her office. “Good thing Ariel was here to close up,” she said, glancing down at her wristwatch. “My poor customers.”

“I’ve missed you, Belle,” the boy declared, abruptly changing the subject. Piteously he added, “Why don’t you like us anymore?”

“Oh, Bae. That’s not it at all. I care for you and your dad very much,” she soothed. “But things are…complicated. I’ve been on my own for a long time and I don’t really know any other way to be. It’s been many years since I’ve had any family.”

Undaunted, Bae offered a solution. “Dad and me—we can be your family now, Belle. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” He spread his hands and smiled, as if this solved everything. And maybe it did.

But Belle was no longer listening to him. Eyes narrowed and piercing, she leaped to her feet with the grace of a panther. “Wait here,” she ordered, retrieving a knife from a holster around her ankle and stalked quietly out to the main floor of the shop. An uneasy feeling crept over her, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and instincts honed by years of training sensing a threat.

Then she smelled it—the acrid, pungent odor of smoke. “Bae, come out here!” she yelled. “We’ve got to go now. The building is on fire!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger threatens Belle, Callum, and Bae. Plus, badass Belle comes out to play.

Bae flew into Belle’s arms, eyes wide and frightened. “Belle, I’m scared. Where’s the fire? I don’t see anything.” He looked around frantically, his body shaking like a leaf in an autumn storm.

“Honey, everything’s going to be ok,” she assured him, running her hands down his small arms. “But we have to move quickly. Just stay close to me and do everything I tell you.”

“Ok,” he warbled, teeth chattering.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous crash. A giant chunk of the ceiling careened toward them, carrying Belle’s bed from the apartment above. Burned splinters of wood flew everywhere, intensifying the blistering flames.

Grabbing the one uncharred blanket from the bed, Belle wrapped it around Baelfire and dragged him to the floor. “Keep this over your face and breath into it,” she instructed him tersely. “I don’t want you inhaling smoke.”

All at once fire engulfed the main floor, surrounding Belle and Bae on all sides. The terrible roar of consuming flames and falling bookshelves increased as the walls constricted, the air unbearably hot. Glass jars of tea burst from the pressure, creating a macabre confetti of glass shards and tea leaves.

Leaping over a shelf flickering with the first licks of flames, Belle ran back toward the office. Dragging a blanketed Bae with her, Belle pounced on the desk phone in a hurried attempt to call 911. No dial tone. Wonderful. Grimacing, she checked her mobile phone. It too, was dead.

Praying fervently that someone would see the smoke and fire and call for help, Belle fought off the orange-red specters of the past, reliving the long-ago fire that had shattered her own young life. “Pull it together, French,” she scolded herself. “How are you going to get Baelfire to safety?”

They were trapped in the office at the back of the store, a small, windowless enclosure. The office door was now too hot to touch. There was no way she was going to lose someone else she cared for to a fire.

“We’ve got one chance, Bae, but it means I’m going to have to make another loud noise and there will be an explosion,” she shouted above the thunderous fire. “Get under the desk and cover your ears! Keep your head down until I yell ‘Clear’!”

Obeying instantly, he watched in disbelief as Belle retrieved a small disc from a hidden drawer inside the desk and flung it at the wall behind them.

The explosive weapon created a hole out to the back alley of the store—large enough for Bae to crawl through. “Clear!” she shouted. “Keep your body covered with that blanket and crawl on your belly, sweetheart,” she said, pulling him from beneath the desk and kissing his soot-covered face.

“Aren’t you coming? Belle? I can’t do this by myself.” His terrified face was streaked with tears.

“You can and you will. Because you are brave. I’ll be right behind you, Bae,” she promised. “Go!” The command was urgent.

She sprawled on the floor behind him, urging him forward as he crawled to safety. Following him quickly, her pace was halted by a large beam falling on top of her legs. Belle was stuck. Hissing in agony, she tried in vain to pull herself out. Her struggles were useless. Coughing violently, she wrapped her curtain of hair around her mouth as protection from the smoke. At least Baelfire had made it out, she thought hazily.  
  


* * *

  
Where was that boy? Gold paced up and down the floorboards of the shop, his cane rhythmically scraping the polished surface. Lego Club had ended over two hours ago. Wednesdays were the one day Bae stayed at school late, building creations out of the ubiquitous bricks synonymous with childhood.

“Stop worrying, Callum,” Jefferson said. “I’m sure he’s just fine.”

“How do you know?” Gold fretted. “He wasn’t there when you went to pick him up.”

Gold’s longtime friend averted his gaze, coloring slightly.

“You know something,” Gold accused. “Don’t you?”

“Relax, my friend, it’s all good.” Jefferson placated him again, but dodged the question.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, Bae’s godfather may find himself impaled upon a cane,” Gold threatened, his eyes fierce and black.

“All right,” Jefferson relented. “Promise me you won’t lose your temper.”

“Start talking,” Gold demanded, pointing his cane at Jefferson’s windpipe. “I may be a coward, but when it comes to my son I. Will. End. You. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Jefferson gulped, then threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “He’s with Belle. Poor kid was out of his mind with grief, begging me to take him to the bookstore. He wanted to talk to her so badly. What else could I do?”

“Say no?” Gold retorted. “One of you is an adult, you idiot, and it’s not Bae. Damn, Jeff, how could you? He is _my_ son.”

“I know, Callum. And I’m sorry. It seemed like you needed an intervention. After what happened this morning, I figured maybe a little bit of space would be good for both of you, you know?” Jefferson was apologetic, but he believed he had done the right thing. Baelfire was perfectly safe with Belle French. Besides, it seemed like Gold and Belle required a little help in the romance department, and if he could force Callum and Belle into the same room resolution was possible.

It was no surprise to Gold that Bae didn’t want to see him. But he was still the father, and it was time to settle this. “I’m going over there,” he decided. “I’m not angry with you Jeff,” he protested, when Jefferson tried to speak again. “I know you were trying to help. You’re a good friend. The best I have. The only one I have.” The last words were a whisper.

Jefferson hugged him roughly, pounding him on the back. “Go get her, Gold. Go get them both.”  
  


* * *

 

Filled with a combination of hope and dread, Gold drove the short distance to Belle’s shop, the roads suspiciously quiet until he remembered that it was suppertime in a small town. Everyone had likely gone home.

In the distance, he noticed smoke pouring out over the block, black and thick. His heart accelerated along with the car as he pushed the pedal to the floor. “Please, don’t let it be Belle’s store,” he prayed. But he didn’t have that kind of luck.

Pulling up to the front of Miss Belle’s Leaves, he released a distressed cry as flames chewed up the building, bent on destruction. Parking his old black Cadillac in the middle of the street, he immediately dialed emergency services.

Scanning the area, he hunted for any sign of Belle and Bae. Had they already escaped? Maybe they weren’t here at all. He imagined them sitting on the red leather banquettes at Granny’s, Belle’s beautiful mouth pursed around her straw while Bae demolished a massive cheeseburger.

Reality re-intruded, harsh and ugly, as he surveyed the burning building and frantically called Belle’s phone. It rang once and dumped him into voicemail.

Then, he caught a movement on the side of the shop. Baelfire. He sobbed in relief as his son came stumbling toward him, dragging a partially burned blanket.

“Bae! Thank God,” Gold cried, dropping frantic kisses all over the boy’s dirty, sweaty face and neck.

“Papa, Papa,” Bae’s voice was hoarse and although he desperately needed his father’s comfort, Belle’s life was in danger. He scrambled out of the embrace, babbling, “She’s still inside. Belle’s still inside! Still inside.” Bae wheezed, trying to fill his lungs with air. “She was supposed to follow me out, but she didn’t. I think she’s trapped.”

Gold’s mouth filled with cotton and blood rushed in his ears as sirens wailed in the distance. “Storybrooke Fire Department’s not going to make it in time,” he told his son, taking a scarf from the car and winding it around his neck as protection against the smoke. “Listen carefully, Bae. I’m going after Belle. Go across the street where’s it’s safe, take my phone, and call Uncle Jeff. No matter what happens, don’t come back to this building. I love you.”

Bae nodded, his chin trembling. “Go to the back of the building. Look for the hole—that’s where I came out. The fire hadn’t touched there yet, Papa.” With those words of encouragement, Bae scampered across the street to call Jefferson.

Ignoring the searing pain of his leg, Gold limped around the back of the building with surprising agility, giving the rest of the structure a wide berth. Bae was right; the fire was just starting to snake its way to the back wall. There was the hole—just large enough for a 50-pound boy to squeeze through.

With little time to waste and no sign of Belle, Gold stabbed at the damaged siding surrounding the hole with the end of his cane, widening it enough so he could crawl inside. Wrapping the scarf across his mouth, he entered the building. Three feet inside the structure he found her pinned to the ground, a beam across her legs. Her eyes were closed and Gold worried that she was suffocating on the smoke. She was clutching something in her hand but he couldn’t see what it was. Miraculously, the flames had not yet touched her. Again Gold used his cane, whacking the weakened wood until it splintered.

Grasping Belle’s arms, he pulled her slight weight back the way he had come in. As he reached the hole, gloved hands reached inside, assisting him. Leroy Kline, captain of the fire department. Thank God. Fresh, cold air shocked his lungs, making him nauseated and he heaved, waving the EMT toward Belle. They strapped an oxygen mask to her face. Within a few minutes her eyes were blinking open and Belle was struggling against the healing hands of the medical team, wrenching the mask from her face.

“Callum,” she pleaded gutturally, reaching for him. He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She broke down, bawling openly and he cradled her close.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m here now. Yes, I’m right here. I’ll never let anything happen to you, my darling,” he promised.

“Bae,” she cried, “Bae…”

“…Is fine,” he soothed. “Baelfire is fine. You saved his life, sweetheart. It’s you we almost lost today.” He stroked her hair gently, cooing into her ear.

Baelfire came running toward them, hurtling himself into their arms. “Belle,” he howled. “Belle, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Baelfire,” she whispered. “So much.”

As the trio embraced, their foreheads touching and tears mingling into a river of joy, Callum Gold was more thankful than he had ever been in his life. Surrounded by the two people he loved most in the world, he wept with gratitude that he had another chance to show them how much he cared.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking care of Belle. And emotional honesty.

“Honestly, I can get a room at Granny’s until I find another place to live,” Belle told Callum as she signed the discharge papers releasing her from the hospital.

“Absolutely not,” Callum protested, wrapping her coat around her shoulders in preparation for departure. “You’re coming home with Bae and me.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” she protested. “After everything I’ve put you through, why haven’t you given up on me?” Her enchanting blue eyes were red-rimmed and bleary and her cheeks were mottled with scrapes and bruises. To Callum, she had never looked more beautiful.

“Because,” he said huskily, covering her small, soft hands with his large, rough ones, “when you find something worth fighting for, you never give up.”

Dr. Whale had elected to keep Belle at Storybrooke General for two days of observation and oxygen treatments. “Just a precaution,” he assured them. “You were extremely lucky, Miss French. A beam that size falling from the ceiling could have killed you. I can’t believe it didn’t break one or both of your legs.” He shook his head in amazement. “But other than a mild case of smoke inhalation, I’m pleased to report that you’re absolutely fine. I’d like you to stay home and rest for a few more days, though.”

“My home was destroyed in the fire, Dr. Whale,” she reminded him wryly.

“She’ll be well cared for,” Gold inserted brusquely. “She has a home with me for as long as she wants one.”

“Indeed,” she joked, sighing in mock surrender. “It seems my hero won’t take no for an answer.”

Callum sighed in relief, thrilled by her acquiescence, and pushed Belle’s wheelchair out the hospital doors and into the brisk autumn breeze.  
  


* * *

 

“Callum, do you have my teacup?” she asked, once she was settled on the couch in the den with an afghan tucked around her body and a steaming mug of tea laced with honey and lemon within easy reach. Bae was still at school and Callum had closed his shop for the day, insistent on pampering Belle.

“Right here, love,” he replied, retrieving it from his coat pocket and removing the layers of tissue paper.

Her beloved teacup—the last one from the antique tea service he had gifted her and the only item to survive the fire—had been in her hands when he found her. The medical team had gingerly pried it from her fingers, taking care not to break the delicate porcelain.

“Thank you,” she said, as he placed it in her hands. “It’s my favorite thing in the whole world and the only one left of the set you gave me. Isn’t it incredible that something so fragile can be so resilient?” Belle asked, her tone a combination of sorrow and awe.

“Aye,” he smiled, his dark eyes shining with affection, “it’s amazing.”

Following a light dinner of clear soup and bread that slid easily down everyone’s battered throats, Callum allowed Bae to regale Belle with a tale from his comics (no talking for Belle) before ushering them both to bed.

Accompanying Belle to the guest room door, Callum bussed her cool forehead with his firm lips. “If you need anything, no matter the time of night, I’m right across the hall,” he reminded her.

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me,” Belle said softly, kissing his cheek.

“It’s no matter.” Callum rubbed absently at the spot her lips had grazed as he limped to his own room, still enjoying the tingling warmth as he lay down to chase his own slumber.  
  


* * *

 

Callum twisted and turned in the tangled sheets, restless in his fitful sleep. Awaking for the third time in as many hours, he finally realized the reason for his disquiet.

Belle was standing at the foot of his bed. Quickly, he snapped the switch on the bedside lamp. Poor darling, he thought. The shadows under her eyes were long and deep and her sapphire eyes were spiked with tears. She focused her attention on her painted toes as he looked at her with tired, unfocused eyes.

It dawned on him that Belle was likely frightened, possibly reliving the events of the fire. “Belle? Have you slept at all tonight?”

She shook her head slowly. “May I…that is, would it be all right…you said if I needed something…”

“Would you like to sleep here? With me?” he offered.

Nodding, more tears spilled over the apples of her cheeks and she sniffled.

Callum didn’t think; he simply opened his arms to her, once again laying bare his heart. Almost as quickly, he longed to rescind the gesture. What would she think of him tomorrow, taking advantage of her in a moment of weakness? In all likelihood she just wanted a warm body to lie next to— _any body_ would do, he thought grimly.

Even as his doubts plagued him, one heartbeat later she was crawling into bed and sinking into his embrace with an artless sigh of appreciation. She tucked her little head against his chest, delighting him with the feel of her curls tickling his neck. Wordlessly, he tightened his arms around her middle, offering his guardianship.

Tears choked her voice and he felt them raining down on his chest, their cool wetness trickling into the small patch of warm skin exposed by his V-neck t-shirt. Saying nothing, he waited patiently; she would talk when she was ready.

After a lengthy silence she spoke into the darkness. “I was in a fire in our home when I was just about Bae’s age.” Belle paused to draw a shaky breath and Callum stayed very still and silent, mentally willing her to continue. “I was rescued, but my parents…it was too late. They died.”

“Oh, Belle. I’m so sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. “You must have been so scared.”

He felt her nod against his chest. “After that I was alone,” she went on, “bouncing between orphanages and foster homes for the next nine years. When I turned 16, I joined the Australian ballet. Last year we toured the U.S. doing the Nutcracker; that’s how I wound up here. During a matinee, I ruptured my Achilles tendon. I couldn’t perform, so I left the company and stayed in the States. This probably sounds ridiculous, but I closed my eyes and picked a spot on the map. My finger landed on Storybrooke, Maine, and, well, I always wanted to open a bookshop. I figured it was now or never.”

“You’re so brave, Belle,” he whispered, his brogue thick with admiration.

That small acknowledgement snapped a cord of tension in her spirit and Belle’s tears flowed again, her tiny shoulders shaking with grief.

She cried for the shop; for her parents; for her fears; and for Callum’s unbelievable kindness. No one had cared for her so tenderly in years. Being cloaked in his embrace was both sensual and reassuring and she prayed that morning might never come so she could stay just a little longer.

As he shushed, stroked, and spoke to her like she was something precious instead of a lost, broken little girl, she screwed her eyes shut. Continuously, he whispered soothing nonsense in his deep Scottish burr. Could he feel the rapid beating of her heart? Did he have any idea how extraordinarily special he made her feel?

“I failed my family the first time around,” he admitted, both to unburden his heart and to distract her from her hurt. “My wife and Bae’s mother, she hated small town life as the wife of a spinner and shop owner. She could never understand why I didn’t want to move to Boston and be a big-city lawyer.”

He told Belle everything—about Milah’s struggles as a mother, her decision to leave, and the accident that ended her life.

“It was my fault Milah died,” he said. “I think that’s why I’m so protective of Bae. If I had been courageous enough to do what she needed me to do, she would still be alive.”

“No one is to blame for Milah’s death,” Belle protested fiercely. “And sacrificing your passion and your values to make someone else happy—that’s not love. Love is revealing your heart. It’s choosing to see the best in another person and allowing them to bring out the best in you. That’s who you are, Callum Gold. You see and bring out the best in Bae, in Jefferson, in Grace…and in me.”

“Do you really think that?” he asked, scarcely able to believe it. “You bring out the best in me, too, Belle.”

“Cal,” she stammered, hardly knowing where to start.

But he read her mind somehow, shocking her with the revelation that he was as fearful of rejection as she was. “I know I’m not much, Belle,” he apologized. “And I’m hardly worthy of you. But I do love you. And I will give you the best that I have.”

Lifting her head from its perch on his chest, she gave him a blinding smile. “I love you, too. Callum, How can you say you aren’t worthy of me? Please, don’t ever say that again. You are the bravest, kindest man I have ever known and a wonderful father.”

Finding her lips in the dark, he kissed her. This time, she didn’t pull away. Tongues and limbs entwined, they found healing in each other’s arms until they both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle, Callum, and Bae are becoming a cozy little family. Belle worries that the fire at her shop was no accident.

They had fallen into a pleasant, easy routine in the two weeks since Belle had joined the Gold household.

Despite Callum’s protests that she was their guest, Belle insisted on contributing. “I’m earning my keep,” she joked.

Often, she assisted Callum in his shop with cleaning, bookkeeping, and merchandising—Belle had a real knack for showing the store’s treasures, bolts of fabric, and gleaming spools of thread off to their greatest advantage. She adored keeping him company throughout the day and he glowed with pride in her presence.

Belle had also assumed the household responsibilities of cleaning, laundry, shopping, and meal preparations.

After years of living on what she called her “regimented ballet dancer’s diet,” Belle had a fairly limited number of dishes in her repertoire. However, she did make heavenly fettucine alfredo and a perfectly grilled chicken Caesar salad. Between those two meals and hamburgers at Granny’s, nobody went hungry.

That evening as they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, Belle told Callum about her latest visit to the pile of rubble formerly known as Miss Belle’s Leaves. Little evidence of what had caused the blaze could be recovered, but there was one interesting discovery.

“My toxicology report came back today. There were drugs in my system the evening of the fire,” she explained. “I remember my tea tasting funny and I thought it was a bad batch of leaves. Then Bae had to wake me up when he arrived and he said he’d been shaking me for a while.”

“You don’t think the fire was an accident,” Callum concluded, hearing her unspoken fears.

“No,” she agreed softly, “I don’t.”

“Hey, Belle, look at these cool explosive discs that the Black Widow’s using,” Bae interrupted excitedly, pointing at an action sequence in his comic. “They look just like the ones you pulled out of that secret drawer in your office!”

“What drawer is that?” Callum asked, mildly curious.

“Bae, honey, I think you might have hit your head a little harder than we thought,” Belle inserted smoothly. “You’re imagining things.”

“But I didn’t hit my head.” Bae squinted at Belle, confused.

Thankfully Callum saved Belle from anymore awkward explanations. “Time for bed, my boy. That school bus comes bright and early. Kiss Belle goodnight.”

“Papa,” Bae worried as he trudged up the stairs, “I know what I saw.”

“Don’t worry about it, son,” Callum pressed. “I’ll take care of this, ok?” He wondered what Belle was hiding.

Returning to the den, he opened his mouth to ask Belle more about the strange weapons Bae was prattling about. But she sidled into his arms, carded her hands through his hair, and kissed him soundly.

Tomorrow, he thought, losing himself in her touch. I’ll ask her tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 Early the next morning, Belle was already in the kitchen when Callum limped tiredly to the coffeemaker, leaning on his cane more heavily than usual.

Surrounded by recipe books, magazines, and typing furiously on her iPad, she looked up at him with a strained smile.

“I missed you,” he told her, nuzzling the top of her curly head. “How long have you been awake?” He had reached for her during the night, waking to find her side of the bed cold and vacant. By unspoken agreement, Belle had continued to share his bed since being released from the hospital into his care.

Though they had no reason to be ashamed—they’d done no more than share a pillow and some kisses—they were careful to keep the sleeping arrangements a secret from Bae. Callum didn’t want to lift his hopes unless Belle was going to become a permanent fixture in their lives. Considering the bumpy road they’d been on so far, he tried hard to live in the moment and not think too far into the future.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she sighed, appreciating the warm weight of his hands on her body.

“You’re worried about the fire and what caused it, aren’t you?”

“What…or who,” she frowned.

Waving his hand at her stacks of books and magazines he asked, “Is this research?”

“Of a sort,” she grinned, momentarily forgetting her troubles. “I’m planning Thanksgiving dinner. It’s next week, you know.” She gestured at the plump, golden brown turkey gracing the cover of a copy of _Food & Wine._

“Belle.” His voice was firm. “You don’t work for me. You’re not some indentured servant. I don’t want you feeling obligated to cook and clean for us. This home is yours, for as long as you want it.”

“Part of sharing a home is sharing responsibilities,” her lower lip trembled. “And I’m not doing this out of obligation or servitude. I want to. It’s been so long since I shared Thanksgiving with anyone. To be here with you and Baelfire, well, it’s more than I ever dreamed. May we invite Jefferson and Grace?”

His eyes softened and he nodded, noticing her prized teacup sitting on the table amongst the piles of books and periodicals; it was a watchful talisman standing sentinel over its mistress.

In her animated appeal, she bumped a book with her elbow and the cup clattered to the tile floor.

“Oh no!” she cried, bending to retrieve it. “It—it’s chipped. How clumsy of me! Cal, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s just a cup,” he consoled her, wiping the tears that sprang to the corners of her eyes with tender fingers. “Besides, it’s my fault. I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart.”

“It’s not just a cup,” she denied. “It’s _our_ cup. The only one left.”

“We can fix it, Belle,” Callum promised. “A little glue and it will be like new.”

“Can we?” she echoed, sadly. “I’m not sure it’s that simple.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is this mysterious Nick that Belle keeps talking to on the sly? And why won't she confide in Callum?

The next morning dawned cold and misty. Winter came early to northern Maine and the mid-November air was frigid. Reaching for Belle in bed, Callum awoke to find her missing—again. He checked the clock on his nightstand—it was only five o’clock. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. If Belle couldn’t sleep, why didn’t she wake him so he could comfort her and fix her a cup of tea?

Retrieving his cane from the corner and donning his robe, he hobbled downstairs to seek her out. She wasn’t in the den or the kitchen. Peering out the frost-covered kitchen window, he caught a flash of blue and wind-whipped curls. Belle was standing on the back lawn in boots and a thin nightgown, her mobile phone against her ear.

Why wasn’t she talking in the house, he wondered, putting the kettle on for tea. Was she afraid to wake Bae? Or did she have something to hide? Feeling guilty, he cracked the kitchen window open to eavesdrop on the conversation. Her telephone companion seemed to be doing most of the talking, but he did catch the word “operation” and the name “Nick.”

Nick? The same bloke she was talking to the day she took off at the park? She had said he was an associate in the book business, but now Callum wasn’t so sure he believed her. He shut the window with a sigh and went upstairs to shower and dress.  
  


* * *

  
After a tiring morning spinning several spools of thread in a rainbow of colors and selling a nineteenth century vase to Ashley Boyd, Callum opened the brown bag lunch Belle had packed for him this morning. He guessed that the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, juice box, and scribbled napkin note: “Good luck on your math test, Bae! Love, Papa and Belle” were not for him.

He imagined Bae wrinkling up his nose at the chicken salad intended for his father, and chuckled as he ascended the front steps of Storybrooke Academy to trade lunches with his son. He swapped bags with the school secretary and walked back down the quiet hall. Rounding the corner, he was brought up short by Belle slamming a locker closed and heading in the opposite direction.

“Belle! Belle, wait.” He hobbled quickly after her, calling her name.

“Callum…hi.” She seemed unpleasantly surprised to see him, but she rallied quickly and kissed his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

He gave the bag of food a small shake. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Bae and I took the wrong lunches today. I didn’t think he would appreciate chicken salad and sparkling water with lime. What did you say you were doing, again?”

“I didn’t say,” Belle said.

“So, tell me,” Callum encouraged.

“Tell you what?” Belle seemed confused.

“What are you doing here at the school?” he asked patiently.

“Oh. That. I’m reading to Bae’s class after lunch,” she said brightly.

“Really? I thought you were meeting Ariel to make plans to rebuild your shop.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She cancelled,” Belle fired back quickly, crossing her arms.

“Ok,” he conceded, backing down. “What are you reading to the kids? Since it’s Bae’s class, I hope you brought a comic book with you. Captain American? Iron Man? Black Widow?” He forced a laugh, trying to cover his mounting anxiety.

“Uh, I actually forgot my book,” Belle stammered. “I’m sure Mary Margaret has something I can read to them.”

“Belle,” he whispered, stroking her jawbone with his knuckles, “What’s going on, sweetheart? Talk to me.”

His soulful dark eyes reflected both compassion and sorrow. Belle couldn’t bear it. “I can’t, Callum,” she said on a strangled breath, begging for understanding. “Please…just trust me.”

“I want to—so very much, Belle. But how can I?” he asked sadly, “How can I live with you and love you when you won’t be honest with me?”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’m not being fair and I’m sorry. I’ll pack my things and be gone by the time you get home. It’s for the best.” Covering her mouth to stifle her sobs, she fled, leaving him standing there with a breaking heart and a soggy brown paper bag.  
  


* * *

  
Back at his shop, Callum couldn’t get his mind off of Belle and her strange behavior. The hushed phone calls, the explosive discs Bae saw the day of the fire, and her evasive, defensive behavior at the school just didn’t add up to former ballerina turned bookstore owner.

Now she was leaving him.

Her choice, he reminded himself. He hadn’t asked her to go; he’d only asked for the truth. With his stomach in knots, he considered closing early and heading home. But what would be waiting for him there? Nothing more than an empty house and his worried thoughts, he mused bitterly.

He was in the back room working with lanolin when he heard the unwelcome peal of the bell: a customer, damn. He was in no mood to play the part of the cowering shopkeeper, and cursed himself for not locking the door.

His unwelcome visitor was none other than Zelena Greenlea.

“Miss Greenlea,” he greeted, forcing himself to be polite to the only woman in town he truly despised. He hoped the putrid scent of the sheep lanolin would send her scurrying out his door in record time. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“It stinks in here, Gold,” she retorted coldly, her blue eyes hard as ice chips. “Tell me, are you still consorting with that little strumpet? The one with the bookstore that burned down. What’s her name again?”

“Belle French,” he answered stiffly.

“She must be quite desperate to align herself with the likes of you.” Zelena twisted her blood-red lips into a smirk.

“Funny,” he hissed, forgetting himself. “Since you yourself seem so anxious to _align yourself with the likes of me._ ”His anger at Zelena’s implication of Belle’s character burned white hot, even as he himself was questioning her integrity. But this harpy had no right. “Not that I owe you any sort of explanation, but Miss French is a lady and I won’t see her reputation suffer because of some vicious rumors. I have opened my home to a friend in need and we are doing nothing untoward.”

“Perhaps,” Zelena parried, nastily. “Too bad you lack the charm and courage to hold her, Gold.”

“Belle’s happy with us,” he gulped, sounded unconvinced even to his own ears.

“For now,” Zelena conceded. “But this dalliance won’t last. You may have caught her but you’ll never keep her. Just like you couldn’t keep Milah.” She studied her manicured nails, painted the same vile shade of red as her mouth.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he scoffed with far more bravado than he felt.

“Don’t I?” she countered. “I was Milah’s best friend. She talked often about your many…shortcomings. I always thought you were fascinating and that you and I would make a lovely couple. But you’ve spurned me over and over.” She pouted. “I don’t take rejection well. Now it’s too late.”

“Is that a threat, Miss Greenlea?” His tone was cutting and cold.

“Consider it a warning, Gold.” Zelena smiled cruelly. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”  


* * *

  
Gold dreaded the moment Bae would arrive for his daily after school visit to the shop. Normally he looked so forward to the precious father-son moments when they would review homework, read comic books, and laugh and chat about the day. After all, childhood was fleeting. But today? Today he had to tell Bae that Belle was moving out. The boy was terribly attached to Belle and he was going to take this news hard. Almost as hard as Callum himself.

Maybe he should give her another chance to explain?

But no. Callum’s primary allegiance was to his son. It had to be. And Bae deserved more than someone who kept secrets and flitted in and out of their lives. So did he, for that matter. Ironically, Belle had been the one who taught him that.

His mobile phone rang and he screened the call. Belle. In a moment of weakness he was tempted to answer but elected to let it go to voicemail. Another call. Belle again? She wouldn’t call twice if it wasn’t important. Sighing, he picked up the phone.

"What is it, Belle?” he asked tiredly.

“Callum!” Her voice was urgent. “Is Bae there? With you?”

“No, Jefferson’s due to drop him off here any minute now. Why?”

“Oh, no!” She moaned. “Pick me up at home! Bae’s missing!”

“Missing? What do you mean, missing?” he shouted into the phone, rushing to the Cadillac as fast as his bad leg would allow.

“I’ll explain everything on the way. Just get here fast,” she urged and hung up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baelfire has been kidnapped, but who's behind it and how will Callum and Belle get him back?

Belle was waiting for him in front of the house as he pulled the car to a screeching halt, scraping the curb.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Gone were Belle’s feminine dresses and stiletto heels. In their place was a form-fitting catsuit and steel-toed black boots. Slung around her waist was a belt holding myriad weapons—combat knives, guns, and explosive discs. Her slim wrists were decorated with tough metal bracelets.

“Let me drive; it’ll be quicker.” Belle ordered. Numbly, he obeyed, allowing her to slide into the driver’s seat.

A thousand questions raced through his mind, making his skull ache. He settled on the most important one. “Where is my son?” he demanded, gripping her arm.

“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out,” she declared. “Jefferson went to pick up Bae as usual, but he had already left. Mary Margaret told him you’d picked him up an hour early for a dentist appointment. I knew there was nothing on the calendar, so it didn’t make sense to begin with. I also knew you would have told Jefferson. But here’s the really weird part: Grace said she saw Bae leaving school with you.”

“How can that be?” Callum was stunned. “I was at the shop all afternoon.”

“Somehow, someone is impersonating you,” she explained. “Of course Bae went willingly. He thought he was leaving with you.”

“Zelena,” Gold spat. “She’s involved in this. She showed up at the shop right after lunch with a warning.”

“What kind of warning?” Belle asked, making a sudden U-turn toward Zelena’s house.

“Nothing specific.” His voice was eerily calm. “But she implied that if I didn’t stop seeing you, we would regret it.” Callum buried his head in his hands, wanting to weep. His precious son was in the hands of a monster—someone cruel and powerful enough to…shapeshift? Did such things actually exist? In Storybrooke? Glancing again at Belle’s odd getup, he suspected that they did.

When they arrived at Zelena’s, Belle asked Callum to follow her lead during the interrogation. Bewildered, he did as she requested, watching her deliver a vicious roundhouse kick to the front door of the house.

“Miss French,” Zelena purred from the sofa. “How kind of you to drop by.”

The self-proclaimed bookworm and ballerina moved with lightning speed, bringing a sharp knife to Zelena’s throat. “You have exactly one minute to tell me where Bae is and who’s taken him before I karate chop your ass into next week.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Zelena was unfazed by Belle’s fury.

“Have it your way.” Belle flicked her wrist, pulverizing a bowl of pristine green apples. Bits of fruit and ceramic flew in every direction. “Your head is next if you don’t tell me what you know.”

“The bookworm has teeth,” Zelena remarked.

“Cooperate, Miss Greenlea, and my associates might offer you a plea bargain on that other matter you’re responsible for.”

“What matter is that, Miss French? Or should I call you Black Widow?” she inserted slyly.

“Black what?” Callum asked, having the distinct impression they had forgotten his presence.

“He doesn’t _know?_ ” Zelena mocked. “Oh, this is just too good. Callum Gold living with a so-called superhero and he has no idea. Storybrooke tongues will be wagging about this scandal for years,” she trilled maliciously.

“Shut up,” Belle said. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. Here’s the deal I’m prepared to offer: I don’t electrocute you for seducing, marrying, and murdering Robin Locksley also known as Hawkeye, and you tell us where Baelfire Gold is.”

“You’re not still hung up on Robin? I never suspected you were the jealous type.” Zelena waved a dismissive hand. “Darling, that was years ago.”

“The Avengers have a long memory,” Belle replied, smacking Zelena across the face. “Now spill it.”

“All right, fine. The brat’s in New York City in some warehouse,” Zelena shrugged. “That’s all the information I have.”

“Who’s your boss?” Belle asked, pulling Zelena’s hair.

“I don’t know her name,” Zelena whispered reverently. “But she’s very powerful. She put me under a four-hour spell that made me look like you, Callum. That’s how I stole Baelfire from the school. Now we can be together at last.”

“You’re insane,” Callum supplied. I would never be with you.”

Her face was pasty, her eyes wild and huge as she realized she’d been tricked. “But she told me if I helped her get the boy, you would love me!” she screamed, grasping his shoulders. “Just think, my darling. With the brat out of the picture, nothing can stop our happiness.”

“You’re the arsonist who tried to burn down my shop, aren’t you?” Belle shuddered as the pieces of this mystery started falling into place.

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Zelena bragged. “I thought the fire would get rid of you and the boy but when that didn’t work, my employer had to resort to more drastic measures.”

“Splendid,” Belle drawled. “We’ll add arson and two more attempted murders to your growing rap sheet.” Belle spoke into the radio transmitter on her wrist. “Rodgers, can you come get Miss Greenlea and take her into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody? There’s enough evidence to put her away for a long time. Hurry; we’re on our way to New York to save Baelfire.”

Roughly, Belle tied Zelena to a chair. “Care to do the honors?” she asked Callum, handing him a roll of duct tape.

“But you said if I cooperated, you would let me go.” She whined like a child who had lost a cookie as Callum tore off a long strip of tape and fastened it tightly against her lying lips.

“Ooops,” Belle said smugly. “Sit tight, Zelena. Captain America will be here, soon.”  


* * *

  
“Captain America? Black Widow? Hawkeye? Who the hell are you?” Callum demanded once they were back on the road. Nauseated, he leaned out the open window, inhaling huge gulps of air.

“I’m a spy, Callum. Belle French—code name Black Widow,” she revealed. “I’m with the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. We’re an espionage, law enforcement, and counter-terrorism agency.”

“Like the superheroes in Bae’s comic books?” he asked, incredulous. “I thought Zelena was lying or out of her mind. Maybe I’m the one who’s out of his mind!”

“I know this is a lot to take in,” she said gently.

“You’re not a ballet dancer,” he said flatly.

“I was, before I became an Avenger. We’ve been tracking Zelena for years. I was sent to Storybrooke to finalize evidence linking her to the death of one of our own—Hawkeye. You would have known him as Robin Locksley.”

“The gym teacher? He was really into teaching the children archery,” Gold recalled. “I thought he grew up here.”

“That was his cover, yes,” Belle said. “Making people believe he was a local was part of the plan. But he met Zelena and went AWOL. She messed with his head somehow. They say love is blind, and it was true in this case. He defended everything she did and couldn’t see her for the nasty, manipulative sow she really is. They had a whirlwind courtship, married, and six months later he was dead.”

“He had a heart attack,” Gold said. “So young. The town thought it was a freak tragedy.”

“It was a tragedy all right,” Belle confirmed, “and Zelena was responsible.”

“She became really close with Milah after he died,” Gold said. “At first I thought she was grieving and just needed a friend, but soon she started making advances toward me and Milah encouraged it.”

“That’s terrible, Callum. I’m so sorry.” She took one hand off the steering wheel, reaching out to stroke his hair. He jerked away from her touch.

Stung, she retracted her hand and blinked back tears.

Honestly, Gold didn’t care about Zelena or Hawkeye or any of the other nonsense Belle was spewing. Every word was a target, and his son was in the crossfire.

“I just need to know one thing, Belle. Did you ever love me, or was that a lie, too?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“I love you and Bae more than anything!” Her response was instant, passionate, and he so badly wanted to believe her. “I only wanted to protect you. Please forgive me. I made the wrong choice, Cal.” The words didn’t seem like enough, but she had nothing to offer except herself.

He winced at the endearment. “Don’t call me that, anymore. Let’s just find Bae, all right?” Callum’s manner and tone were clipped and anxious. His wounded pride wasn’t ready to forgive her just yet.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Belle form an uneasy alliance and search for Bae.

For the next four hours they drove in silence, the tension between them palpable.

“Pull over,” Gold demanded when rain started falling, battering the car in a steady downpour.

“Why? This is a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission and I know the way,” she argued.

“Look, Belle, or Black Widow, or whatever your bloody name is! You may be a hero right out of the pages of Bae’s comic books but he is _my son_. And you won’t take any action without including me and discussing it with me first,” he yelled. “Do you understand?”

“Of course, Callum. I would never exclude you from anything with respect to Bae,” she agreed, trying to soothe his battered ego. “In fact, I can’t do this without you.”

“Please,” he laughed bitterly. “While you’re doing flying jump kicks, I can’t even run.”

Belle nudged a black satchel resting at her feet. “I have a special brace in here that will strengthen your knee so you can move with ease, even run. It’s modeled after Tony Stark’s Ironman suit,” she said—as though associating with superheroes was a normal, everyday occurrence.

To think, he had told Bae that these idols he adored didn’t even exist, only to learn that they’d been living with one. The irony was almost more than he could bear.

“Fine,” he barked sharply.

Dejected, Belle looked out the window at the storm. Bae, the child she cared for as her own, was gone because she had failed to protect him. Callum, the only man she had loved, felt betrayed. The family she thought she was so close to regaining was slipping away.

What else did she expect? Since her parents’ death, no one had ever loved her. She was always a little too bright, a little too physical, and a little too pretty for her own good. She alienated everyone she cared for just by existing. Belle French was a misfit. And she had no one to blame but herself.

“Bae’s mother died because I let her drive in the rain,” he reminded her, breaking the silence.

“I know, my darling,” she ventured softly, and this time when she reached for his hand, he squeezed her fingers fiercely. “I know.”  


* * *

 

  
“We’re here,” Belle said, directing Callum to a warehouse in the Chelsea area. “The Avengers’ leader, Nick Fury, thinks Bae’s being held here. I don’t know what we’ll find, Callum. Prepare for anything but pray he’s alive and unharmed.”

“He has to be, Belle,” Callum said firmly.

Callum donned the special knee brace and Belle outfitted him with a small arsenal of weapons to complement hers. Testing it out, he shifted his weight to his bad leg, surprised. This was amazing, he thought as he jumped around. Thanks to the brace, he had two strong legs again. At least he would be of some use now in rescuing his son.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence says this is the work of Abyss—my arch nemesis. She’s extremely powerful. She can transform others into lifeless slaves. She can manipulate, mesmerize, even control density,” Belle said ruefully. “Don’t look directly into her eyes or she’ll be able to hypnotize you.”

“What does she want with Bae?” he asked, terrified for his boy.

Belle shook her head. “That’s what we don’t know.”

She dispatched a small army of goons guarding the perimeter of the building with ease. Callum watched in wonder as Belle kicked, punched, and slammed her way around the outside of the warehouse, leaving a slew of unconscious bodies in her wake.

Breathing hard, her sapphire eyes sparking with fire, she appeared as a Valkyrie charging into battle. She was utterly magnificent.

Using a silent air drill, she opened a large vent on the wall of the building and motioned for Callum to squeeze inside. “We’ll sneak in through the ventilation system. It’s tight, but it should be large enough for us to use it to maneuver anywhere in the building.”

Moving quickly, they followed the tunnels with ease for some time until they heard voices. Belle peered through the vent below and saw a slim, raven-haired woman with strange, dark eyes talking to Bae. Their boy was sitting in a chair. He seemed withdrawn but he wasn’t hurt. “We’re right above them, Callum,” she said, pointing down.

“Open your mind, Baelfire, and you will see,” the woman instructed. From her vantage point, Belle could see that her eyes were like whirling vortexes—mind control was one of her strongest powers. It was definitely Abyss.

“Open mind to see,” Bae mimicked in an odd voice.

“Together, we will create a new race of magnificent, transcendent creatures,” she promised. “You can trust me, Baelfire.”

“New race,” the boy repeated obediently.

“Oh my God,” Callum whispered, horrified by his first look at the woman who held Bae captive. “How is this possible? Abyss is…Milah?”  


* * *

  


“Milah, your dead wife? Are you certain? I’ve crossed swords with Abyss several times in the past five years. I had no idea she used to be Milah.” Belle was dumbfounded.

“I’m positive,” he confirmed, taking a closer look. “Milah is alive.”

“Alive and extremely deceitful and powerful,” she reminded him. “Be very careful and whatever you do, don’t look into her eyes or she’ll be able to get inside your head. ”

Belle told Callum to stay in the vent and keep watch while she made her way to the building’s control center. Once there, she disabled the security system so they would be able to enter the room undetected. Returning to Callum, Belle clipped cables to their belts, preparing for their descent.

“I’ll take care of Abyss. You concentrate on getting to Bae. He’s in a trance—hopefully he’ll come out of it shortly. These cables move fast but they’re very strong. On three.” Grabbing his collar she kissed him full and hard on the mouth. “For luck,” she whispered against his cheek.

“Good luck.” He pushed a stray curl off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

“Three, two, one,” Belle counted off and the pair swiftly dropped to the floor behind Bae and his captor.

While Callum rushed toward Bae, Belle distracted Abyss by firing the “widow’s bite" from her metal bracelets, sending an electrostatic bolt through the woman's chest. Startled by the attack, the villain howled in pain. Recovering quickly, Abyss sent an answered blast at Belle that threw her against the wall.

“The Black Widow,” she hissed venomously. “We meet again.”

Meanwhile, Callum propelled Bae into the corner of the large room, as far away from Abyss as possible. Holding tight to his disoriented son, he scanned the area for possible escape routes.

“What do you want with this child, Abyss?” Belle demanded.

“The boy is central to my vision for a new Earth,” she answered. “My son is going to rule with me in the New Order that I am creating. The only hope for this pitiful planet is a child. What better place to start a pure race than through my own son?”

“Baelfire is not your son, Milah.” Callum stepped out of the shadows, unable to keep silent. “You may have given birth to him, but you are not his mother—Belle is.” Callum was stunned by the words coming out of his mouth. But it was true. They were a family in every way that mattered.

Abyss growled and seized Bae and Belle in a force field, suspending them in midair and scrambling the thoughts in their brains.

“Milah, please,” Callum begged. “Let them go.”

“My name is Abyss now. Shall I call you Callum the Coward as you beg and plead for your miserable life?” she mocked. “If I let them go from this height, their bones will shatter on the concrete. You’ll be all alone again.”

“You building a better planet seems…unwise,” Belle choked out, fighting hard against Abyss’s mind control.

“Milah,” Callum said, trying to distract her, “We were in that terrible car accident together. I saw your body. I buried you. All these years, I thought you were dead.”

“It was all staged, Callum, you fool. I wanted a new life,” she told him, “one where you weren’t holding me back. Because of your cowardice, I was denied privilege and riches. You could have had money, power, and prestige but instead you wanted to start a family and spin wool into thread. How disgustingly parochial.”

“Why didn’t you just leave as you planned? Why go to the trouble of faking your death?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I wanted you to suffer the way you made me suffer. Coward!” She spat at him.

“Everyone in Storybrooke thinks you are dead. I’ve been ostracized, blamed for your death!”

“Think of it as a bonus,” she taunted. “That’s what a coward deserves.”

As Abyss spoke, the force field weakened, gradually freeing Belle’s mind from the hypnosis.

“And Baelfire,” he asked, trying to keep her talking, “How did you get to him?”

“Yes, my dear friend Zelena. That foolish girl has always been dreadfully easy to manipulate. All I had to do was exploit her greatest weakness—you—and she was putty in my hands. I cast a simple glamour and she became you. She took the boy, no questions asked. It was all deliciously easy.”

Abyss laughed manically, breaking her concentration enough to give Belle an opening. Lunging in midair, Belle hurled an explosive disc, striking Abyss in the head. Belle covered Bae’s eyes and somersaulted with him to the ground.

This time, Milah was truly dead.

Laughing and crying, Callum, Belle, and Bae embraced, thankful that their little family was safe and together.

“Belle!” Bae exclaimed. “You _are_ the Black Widow. Papa, I totally called it.”

“Yes, you did, Bae.” Callum smiled broadly. “You knew it all along. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry for doubting both of you,” he added, gazing tenderly at Belle.

A tall, severe, dark-skinned man with a patch over his left eye approached. “Well done, Miss French,” he saluted. Dressed in black leather from head to toe, he cut quite an intimidating figure.

“Hello, Nick,” Belle greeted, shaking his hand. “Excellent work vanquishing Abyss,” he complimented.

“Belle was magnificent,” Callum agreed.

“So were you, Callum. I couldn’t have done it without you. We’re a team,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling his neck.

Nick cleared his throat, reminding Belle that he was still present and watching this display of affection with a great deal of interest.

“Please forgive my rudeness,” Belle apologized primly. “Callum Gold, meet Nick Fury, leader of the Avengers.”

“Good to meet you, Gold. Nice work,” Fury greeted.

“So this is the Nick I heard you on the phone with?” Callum pulled Belle aside.

“The very same,” she confirmed.

“Do you have any idea how wild with jealousy I was?” he asked her. “I thought you were seeing someone else. You could have told me.” He colored in embarrassment.

“There’s never been anyone else, Mr. Gold,” she blinked at him seductively. “You’re the only man I ever want.”

“ _The_ Nick Fury? This is unbelievable!” Bae crowed happily, running over to them.

Bae’s boundless enthusiasm for his heroes was contagious and everyone burst out laughing.

“So, Miss French,” Nick ventured, looking pointedly at Callum, “is Gold here the Avengers’ newest recruit?”  
  
"Well, I am a little reluctant to let this amazing turbo-charged knee brace go," Callum confessed.

“You're perfect just as you are, Callum. And there's no way I’m letting you get your hooks into him, Nick,” she laughed merrily, launching herself back into Callum’s arms. She cast him a look so filled with love it took his breath away. “This one’s all mine.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: Thanksgiving at the Golds' one year later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear reader, for joining me on this journey! This was my first multi-chapter work and I had an absolute blast writing it. Hopefully it's the first of many!
> 
> Special thanks to Rumpelstarkskin for the intriguing prompt that launched this story! You were an amazing RCIJ giftee and I very much enjoyed getting to know you and learning about your passion for Black Widow and, of course, Rumbelle. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it for you.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Marie

 

 

_One year later._

“Cheers,” the group chorused, clinking their glasses. Callum, Belle, Jefferson, Ariel, Bae, and Grace sat around Golds’ dining room table, enjoying a merry feast. It was Thanksgiving Day, and there was much to celebrate and be thankful for. While the adults sipped a champagne from a pricey bottle of Dom Perignon, Bae and Grace joined in on the toasting tradition with crystal glasses filled with sparkling apple juice.

Belle touched the fizzy, slightly sweet wine to her lips and reflected on the past year. After defeating Abyss and rescuing Baelfire from her plans for world domination, she had turned in her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. It was time for her to stop fighting and start living. Following many lonely years, she had found a place to belong and had eagerly embraced love, family, and happiness with open arms.

With Ariel and Jefferson’s support and advice, Callum and Belle had decided to combine their talents and business savvy to open one shop. The marriage of business ventures was ideal, featuring antiques, fabrics, and threads as well as new and vintage books and a wide variety of loose teas—made the proper British way, of course. Pages from the Past had opened to the public six months ago to rave reviews and was building a strong customer base in and out of Storybrooke.

At long last, Callum had laid Milah’s ghost to rest. Word of her perfidy gradually traveled around town and old resentments and fears toward Callum were crumbling. He was no longer viewed as the town coward; Belle’s love had helped Callum to blossom and the more he opened up, the more he was genuinely liked and respected. Callum’s skills as a master spinner were becoming known throughout the Northeast, and he had been giving Belle many private lessons at the spinning wheel which they both enjoyed immensely.

Now in the second grade and confident in the love of his father as well as his new mama, Bae was thriving. He still loved comic books and Belle kept the store stocked with interesting tales of heroism and bravery. To say Baelfire was thrilled to be adopted into the lineage of superheroes was an understatement—the child adored Belle as much as she did him.

Gruffly, Callum cleared his throat and stood. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he said. “Hemingway once said ‘Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.’ Last year at this time, I was empty inside. I was a single father trying to give his son his best chance. Yes, I taught him how to get by, but I didn’t teach him how to truly live. Then I met Belle—she brought light and love into our home and our lives. We learned from each other and grew together. A few months later, she made me the happiest man in the world by becoming my wife. Sweetheart, I thank heaven for you and our son, and our wonderful friends every single day. I fall deeper in love with you with each passing moment. You completed our world in a way I didn’t even know I needed. I love you so much, Belle. Thank you.”

“Cheers,” the company said again in unison, the four adults sniffling and knuckling away tears and the kids smiling broadly.

“Oh, Cal. Darling, that was so beautiful. Now, tell me,” she smiled and her serious tone gave way to gently teasing. “How would you feel about just a little more happiness in, say, about seven months?”

“Really?” he asked, eyes wide and shining with happy tears. She nodded shyly, confirming the news. They were going to have a baby.

“I would say yes,” he choked out, his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

Congratulations were shouted and hugs and kisses exchanged. Baelfire was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of welcoming a new brother or sister.

“I can’t wait,” he beamed. “I wonder if the new baby will have superpowers.”

“Hmmm, that is a good question,” Belle declared, reaching across the table to take Callum’s hand. “But it doesn’t matter. True heroism isn’t determined by how strong, clever, or fast we are. It’s the measure of our hearts that matters.”

Everyone grew quiet, considering Belle’s words. Bae was the first to break the silence.

“I’m hungry; can we eat dinner already?” he asked, impatient with all the mushiness. “I think I could eat that whole turkey myself!”

“There’s no doubt about it, Belle—our son has a Super Appetite,” Callum joked wryly.

Laughing together, they dug into the feast. Yes, there was much to be thankful for.

_The End_


End file.
